


Esoteric

by EarlGreyLeaf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, Lemon, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarlGreyLeaf/pseuds/EarlGreyLeaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry did not like this at all.  He did <i>not</i> like that the blond was mere inches from him.  He did <i>not</i> like that he was trapped against the wall, heart pounding against his ribs.  He did <i>not</i> like that his feet were rooted to the stony floor, or that his mind was racing back to his dreams at a most inappropriate time.  But, most of all…</p><p>He did <i>not</i> like how much he <i>did</i> like it.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>(Undergoing mass edits in Oct. 2016 in preparation for NaNoWriMo.)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Threshold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewritten and updated as of Oct. 2016.

_A pair of hands moved across his chest, aiming for his stomach.   Harry gasped for breath, only to have it stolen in another furious kiss.   A pale form pinned him to the pure white sheets.   Soft moans escaped the brunet as a pair of moist lips brushed his collarbone._

_He arched his back, bringing the two bodies dangerously close.   His partner released him, and the boy wrapped his arms around the flushed figure above, gripping his back in pleasure.   Lust-ridden icy eyes watched him, taking in every sweet sound.   Harry shuddered as hands trailed down his sides, finally resting at his hips.  Hips ground against hips, driving out another moan as the he squirmed._

_"Do you want it?" he whispered into Harry's ear._

He bolted upright, panting and wide-eyed.

Frustrated, he flung his sheets from his sweaty limbs.   No one else was awake, he realized, and a quick Tempus informed him it was 6 A.M.   He sighed, resting his head in his palm.  How long was this going to last?

It was torture.

When his breathing evened out, he glanced out of the window at the setting moon.   It shone brilliantly into the dorm, flooding the floor, illuminating the dark carpet.  The Gryffindor calmed slightly, and swung his legs over the edge of his bed.  After a few moments, he quietly creeped over to his trunk, grabbed a set of robes, and left for the showers.

Thankfully, he had fallen into the habit of nightly Silencing Charms around his bed.  None of his dormmates could hear anything he might say his sleep, be it a nightmare, or another illicit dream abou-  _No._   _Don’t think about it._

Shaking his head vigorously, he shouldered open the door to the Prefects’ Bathroom.

The mermaid peered at him sleepily as he trudged by, stretching her fin.  Harry stripped quickly, ignoring her, hoping the cool air would shock some sense into his addled brain.  He shoved his pyjamas into his school bag unceremoniously, and stepped into the stall, letting the warm water spray over his tense muscles.  He rubbed his shoulders, and let the water trickle down his face.

It had started only a few weeks prior, with no cause to his knowledge.  Far too often, he endured those dreams, succumbed to them, and, when he awoke, he was always too mortified rid himself of the aching hardness they left behind.

Harry knew his friends had noticed something wrong.  And above all else…

He had been avoiding Malfoy, at  _all_ costs.

Except for class, of course.  He couldn't afford another poor grade.  He cursed quietly.  More recently, those grades had been the direct result of those damned  _dreams_.  Lack of sleep did not agree with him in the least.

He quickly shut off the water at the sound of footsteps, dried, and slipped into a fresh pair of boxers.  Shoving his wand into his waistband, he cracked the stall door.

A blond figure ( _of course)_ rounded the corner, and halted, spotting the Gryffindor.  The tall boy sneered, but stayed mercifully silent as he stalked over to the shower furthest from him.

Harry fully opened the door, irritation etched into his face.  His fingers itched to go for his wand, even if just to take out his frustration.

"Relax, Potter," Malfoy breathed, tossing his clothes into one of the stalls, "I’m flattered that you are so interested in my presence, but I'm not here for a fight."

"Is that so?" Harry replied, although the grip on his wand relaxed minutely.  He watched as the Slytherin remove his shirt, placing it with his other clothes.  The rest of his attire followed, until Malfoy was down to his-  Harry wanted to turn away, but he was too slow, and the blond had already noticed his audience.  He rested a hand on his hip, and a smirked played across his lips, "Is there something you needed?  You rather look like a Confunded fish."

Harry jerked out of his trance, swiveling his head away, face heating.  Not trusting his voice, he stayed silent, turning his back to dress.  He tore his fresh robes from where they hung at the end of the stall, and in his embarrassed flurry, knocked his wand from his pocket.  It clattered noisily, rolling across the damp floor a full six feet, before coming to a stop with a soft ‘ _tink’_ against Malfoy's foot.

There was a minute of silence.

The two surveyed each other.  Then, Malfoy bent to retrieve the item, pausing for a moment to think, and Harry was sure he was dead.

However, he watched, frozen, as the blond padded softly over to him and held it out.  Hesitantly, Harry took it without a word.

But suddenly, the Slytherin leaned in close, essentially trapping him against the metal stall, and whispered, "You should be more careful."

Harry was mortified to feel a shiver travel down his spine.  His ears pinked.  Malfoy showed no sign of noticing, and continued, "You'd be powerless without it."

The thought of himself powerless against the young man in front of him was, indeed, fearsome, and not at all what he needed to be reminded of.  The soft moans and kisses he'd become familiar with clawed at the back of his brain.  He shook his head, trying to diffuse the red tint that crept into his cheeks.  Malfoy’s _(soft-looking)_ lips quirked, and he withdrew, returning to his stall.  The door closed behind him, and Harry released an unsteady breath.

When he had managed to feel his legs again, he swiftly and silently left the room.

<><><><><><> 

After the steps receded, Draco slumped against the wall.  Warm water pooled at his feet, whirling down the drain.  He shivered, despite the heat licking through his body.  He had  _some_ control, he had to admit.  Coming that close to Potter, and not acting rashly… It took everything.

He slid to a crouch, wrapping his arms around his knees pensively.  He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall.

_His hands traced mercilessly over the Gryffindor's tanned skin.  Dropping kisses over every inch of that beautiful flesh, he relished in the hoarse whispers of his name…_

Draco shook his head violently, burying it in his hands.  This was unbearable!

He ran his hands through his hair, now loose around his face.  He let the water run its course over his body for another few minutes.  Then, breathing deeply, he stood, and finished washing himself.

Sometime later, after an inevitable wank, he emerged from the stall fully dressed.

On his way to the door, he spied something small and black resting on the floor.  It was a thick, worn tome, miraculously dry as it lay near the wall.  Draco crossed the shower room, and picked it up, inspecting it in his hand.

A copy of _Advanced Potion-Making._ He flipped the cover open, and _H. P._ glared up at him, scribbly and taunting, amidst a sea of annotations.

After a few moments, he stowed it in his bag.

<><><><><><> 

Harry cursed as he rummaged through his school bag.  Hermione glanced at him reprimandingly, and Ron merely shrugged, and stuffed another chunk of egg into his mouth.  The Great Hall buzzed around them.

"I lost my Potions book!" he snapped irritably.

Ron looked at him sympathetically, "Oh, that's tough, mate."

Hermione set down her  _Daily Prophet,_ carefully avoiding Ron's breakfast debris, "When was the last you saw it?"

"I used it to finish up the essay last night, and-" He clenched his jaw.

In the showers! He must've…

Panic coursing through him, he swiveled his head around, searching.  Malfoy was watching passively from the other side of the Hall, chin resting on his palm.  He raised an eyebrow.  Harry held his gaze for a moment, then looked away as his stomach shifted curiously.

"Nevermind!" he exclaimed, leaping up from his seat much too quickly.  His bag knocked into Neville's arm, which ricocheted into a goblet and knocked juice over the table and a few of his friends.  Neville spluttered, and Ginny hurriedly tried to help spell him dry.  Mumbling an apology, Harry clambered over the bench, "S-sorry-!  I remember where it is, I'll see you later!"

Blushing furiously, he made his way hastily towards the vast oak doors.  Harry was 99% sure Malfoy was holding his book hostage.  He sighed, less than keen on having to confront the Slytherin.  Would he go to Slughorn about the Prince’s notes?  Would that be considered cheating?  Would Malfoy keep it for his own nefarious uses?

Harry instinctively rubbed his nose, cringing at the last rather unenjoyable encounter he’d had with the blond.

He’d only ascended two floors before realizing that his were not the only steps echoing off the stone.  Harry’s brow furrowed, and a few steps later, he ducked behind a stature next to a deserted corridor.

He waited a bit until the steps faded, and relaxed.  Days without a restful sleep really made him anxious.  The brunet slipped quickly back out into the hallway, and crashed head-on into a solid bulk.

“Mpff!”

Malfoy flinched, but recovered quickly, “Watch it, Potter!”

“You watch it, you git!” Harry bit back, “Why are you following me?!”

"Once again, I'm not here to fight."

“I seriously doubt that.”

The Slytherin waved him off, and Harry bristled.  He was about to tell Malfoy exactly what he could do with that bloody attitude of his, when the other boy’s thin hand slipped into his bag and withdrew a hefty book.

Harry glared at him fiercely, "You  _did_ have it!"

"Yes, yes, stating the obvious, Potter," the Slytherin replied, rather impatiently, “Maybe if you hadn’t left it lying around the bathroom-”

“As I recall, _Malfoy,_ ” he gritted out, “You gave up your precious Prefect status this year.  You shouldn’t have been there.”

“As _I_ recall, Potter, you never _were_ a Prefect,” Malfoy replied cooly, dangling the book from his hand, “I’ve half a mind to keep this.  I knew you were getting help from somewhere.”

"Give it back," Harry said warningly.

"You realize…" Malfoy stepped forward, ignoring him, "This is the second time today that I’m returning something to you?"

 _Ooooh, no…_  Harry did not like this at all.  He did _not_ like that the blond was mere inches from him.  He did _not_ like that he was trapped against the wall, heart pounding against his ribs.  He did _not_ like that his feet were rooted to the stony floor, or that his mind was racing back to his dreams at a most inappropriate time.  But, most of all…

He did _not_ like how much he _did_ like it.

Malfoy caged him in, a palm resting on the rough stone next to Harry’s head, the other upon his hip.  His pale eyes were wicked, and the brunet felt his skin prickle as he stared helplessly like prey into the predator’s maw.  In Harry's rose-pink ear, he whispered, "Shouldn’t _I_ receive something for my kindness?"

A furious blush bloomed over Harry’s face.  He felt the Slytherin's lips brush the bony hollow behind his ear, and the Gryffindor froze.

The warm touch moved lightly to the curve of his neck, and a tremble flew down his back.  Mortified, he found himself leaning his head back as Malfoy pressed closer.  Every instinct told him to bolt, sending spells flying back behind him, but his body was traitorous.

As if the very answer to his panicked prayers, a distant boom could be heard, and the roar of students echoed through the castle.  Breakfast had ended.

The lips disappeared, and Malfoy stepped away.  He threw a smirk at him before slipping into the oncoming crowd.

Harry waited for the feeling to return to his limbs.

<><><><><><> 

 "Harry, mate, you look terrible."

Harry looked up to find his friend peering at him, “Thanks.”

His eyes felt sluggish, and he was sure there were dark bags beneath them.  Ron’s brow furrowed, and he chewed his lip.  Harry readjusted his arms, head resting on them, and closed his eyes again, "I'll be fine, I'm just not sleeping well.”

Ron cast a depressed glance at Snape's desk, "I can't wait for Christmas holidays… Only a few more weeks.  I’ll be able to sleep all day!"

"I’d like to see you try," the raven-haired boy chuckled, suddenly imaging Mrs. Weasley chasing Ron from bed,

Ron looked downcast, "You're right.  Mum would never go for it."

A resounding BOOM ricocheted through the dungeon, and Harry's eyed flew open.

Slughorn lumbered through the doorway, disgruntled.

The room fell silent, staring with wide eyes.  The rotund man stamped up to his desk dropping rolls of parchment across its surface.  More than a few eyebrows raised, "Today, we will be working on the Draught of Living Death!"

He waved his wand, and words scrawled themselves across the chalkboard, "Follow these instructions  _carefully_! An awry Draught can cause a coma, or actual death.”

Several students looked at each other, shifting uncomfortably.

“Begin!"

Half an hour later, Harry gazed at his miraculously  _correct_ potion (thanks to the Prince) as it stirred itself counter-clockwise seven times.  The lilac liquid boiled and bubbled away happily at him.

Ron's, however, was a sickly orange goo, full of clumps and unsightly sludge.  Hermione seemed to be doing only marginally better than Ron, unfortunately distracted by Neville, whose Draught had become a mass of violent green foam that was beginning to overflow his cauldron in her direction.

“This is bloody awful!” Ron scowled, “Harry, how'd you get yours right?"

Harry shrugged, chuckling, "It's okay, Ron," he pointed towards their two distressed friends, "At least it's not like  _his_."

Ron moaned dejectedly.

They heard the doors thump open again, and he caught sight of a slim blond figure slipping in quietly.

"Ah, Malfoy, m’boy!" Slughorn announced from behind his pile of scrolls, “Sit, sit!  You may still have time to produce something acceptable.”

Parkinson scooted aside to let the blond drop his bags.  He paused only momentarily, sending a smirk Harry’s way as he caught the Gryffindor staring.  Harry frowned, returning with a glare.

Malfoy snickered quietly, turning away to sort his ingredients.  While Ron chopped his Sopophorus beans angrily, Harry discovered his potion had begun to clear.

"Prat," Ron muttered.  Harry nodded absently.


	2. Predacious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewritten and updated as of Oct. 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are highly appreciated!

The days progressed, and Harry's dreams and lack of sleep continued.  One particular morning, he had thrown a shoe straight through the window in frustration, waking almost the entire dorm.  After a sheepish ' _Repairo,'_  his dormmates mumbled themselves back to sleep.

Saturday arrived, bringing with it the monthly trip to Hogsmeade, and Harry found himself trudging through the snow-packed ground with his two best friends early that afternoon.

Something collided heavily with his shoulder, sending him staggering.

"Hey-!" He whirled, and looked dead into a pair of eyes as blue as the shadows across the snow.

"Potter," the Slytherin sneered, brushing his shoulder clean.

Glaring, Harry shook snow from his cloak hem, "Watch where you’re going."

"You were in the way."

The blond signaled the two hefty Slytherins lurking behind, and swept down the narrow road.

Once they reached the perimeter of the village, Harry urged Ron and Hermione into The Three Broomsticks, insisting he would meet them later after wandering a bit.  Smiling to himself, the he continued down the now-trampled sludge.  He had to give them some time alone.  They had been acting even more strangely around one another, and of course Harry knew why.  However, the idea of suddenly finding himself cut out of their group left him slightly glum.

He brushed the thought away.

He melted into the crowd, passing children peering into Honeyduke's, teens pointing and shoving into Zonko's, and adults popping in and out of the Hogshead down a small, dim alley.  He followed the footpath out the back of the village, meandering where his warmly-clad feet took him.  Passing the last building, Dervish & Banges, he took to the evergreen-lined trail.

He kept to it, just walking, enjoying the beauty of the white-crested forest, the soft contrast of the blue-white on green.

It was after several minutes, though, that Harry realized once again that he was being followed.  He slowed, taking a few more cautious steps, and heard them echoed just a few yards behind. 

“It’s getting old, Malfoy.”

A soft chuckle carried through the crisp air.  Harry whirled, wand drawn and pointed.

"You don't trust me?" Malfoy leered.

"Why should I?"

His glare sliced into the blond.  The Slytherin sighed impatiently, tucking something away into his robes.  Malfoy’s lips turned up at the corner, "Calm down.  You’re too jumpy."

Harry dropped his arm begrudgingly, "You've never given me a reason  _not_ to be."

Before he knew it, his back hit a tree.  Winded, Harry found himself squinting up in panic at the Slytherin, the rough bark of an ancient pine digging into his skin, even through his many layers, and his hands were pinned above him.  Malfoy leaned in against Harry's futile thrashing, mere centimeters from the brunet's furious face, "You  _should_ trust your instincts."

Harry could only fall limply against the tree, stare defiantly, and vaguely note that the boy smelled of peppermint.

It was obvious Malfoy saw his resignation.  They were, as it seemed, hidden from view, and the boy was at his mercy.  He smiled in triumph, nuzzling into the Harry’s neck, "I gather you understand the situation."

Harry merely glared, anger and confusion suddenly adorning his wind-rouged cheeks, "Why are you doing this…?"

Malfoy pulled back, "What?"

The brunet cast his gaze to the side, "All of it.  _This,_ " He took a slow breath, "What do you want from me?"

Malfoy paused, then cast his eyes down upon the snow.  A hardened smirk carved into his features.  Harry chanced a look from underneath his dark fringe, and glimpsed some undefinable emotion on the blond's porcelain face.

"I really thought you'd have figured it out."

Was that…  _bitterness?_

The Gryffindor peered at him, trying to mask his curiosity, "Figured out  _what,_ exactly…?"

Malfoy shook his head slightly, but to Harry or himself, the brunet was not sure.  Harry sighed defeatedly, nodding up at his hands, "Look, are you going to let go?"

He looked like he was going to.  But, after a moment, looking like a cat with a toy, Malfoy grinned wickedly, "Not quite yet, Potter."

Harry did  _not_ like that predatory gleam in the blond's eyes.  He was feeling extremely uneasy again, searching for possible escape routes.  His eye flicked back to Malfoy, and his skin prickled, "Malfoy, I-"

The blond cut him off, grinding his hips heavily into Harry's.  The brunet released a small gasp, startled by the sudden friction.  Malfoy moved in, pressing his chilled lips into the curve of the Gryffindor's neck.  Harry could feel him smiling against his skin as he twisted his head away, struggling to make his suddenly jelly-like legs work.  He was frozen in place.

Trapped.

His wand lay nestled in the white fluff at his feet, unreachable.  Glimpses of his dreams leapt to the front of his mind.  Cheeks suddenly warm in spite of the whirling flurries, he shivered as Malfoy's free hand traveled downward, exploring new territory.  An ' _Accio'_ died in Harry's throat, strangely, along with the impulse to bolt.

The sudden fever in his body, the feel of the blond's gloved hands roving over him, became not so unwelcome.

Harry's soft pants filled the silent air between them, confused, and angry at being caught off guard, at being vulnerable.

Malfoy's restricting hand loosened, but Harry did not try to run.  The weakened limbs fell loosely around the Slytherin's neck, then constricted as Malfoy discovered a much more  _pressing_  problem.

" _Aah-!"_

Harry felt the lips curve against his collarbone.  When did his shirt come unbuttoned?

His fingers moved upwards, entangling themselves in the blond strands.  Why was he enjoying this?

He groaned slightly, then bit his lip, cutting himself off.  No, he couldn't let Malfoy win.

He-

"Harry!"

"Harry, where are you?"

Said boy cursed, and felt Malfoy release him instantly.  Harry nearly fell into the snow bank.

The distant shouts of Ron and Hermione cut through his fog.  _"Damn,"_ he hastily pulled his cloak back into place, fixing his top button.  He threw a dagger-sharp glare at the blond next to him, who was running his hand through his hair, looking irritated, but unfazed.

Harry took a step, stumbled, then took off in the direction of his friends’ voices.  _What the bloody hell is this all about?_

The snow-capped evergreens blurred past him, too distracted to notice.  His face stung, the wind biting his skin angrily, and he clutched his scarf closer.  His eyes burned, but he wasn't quite sure if it was just the wind's doing.

The path re-opened, and he burst from the treeline, panting.  He clutched his knees, doubled over, lungs searing.  He stared, frustrated, down at the crushed white slush of the recently-trodden ground.

"There you are!"

Crunching reached the Gryffindor's ears, and a shadow fell over him.  He looked up.

"'Mione, here he is!"

Harry saw the bushy-haired girl break free from the crowd behind Ron.  Relief flooded her pink face, "Oh, thank God, Harry, we have tons to-"

From the look that crossed her face at that moment, he could only assume Malfoy had finally emerged behind him.

He could almost  _feel_ the Slytherin's leering presence, "Granger, Weasel."

Ron slipped closer to Hermione, who tried to look as dignified as possible beneath her wind-fluffed curls, "Bugger off, Malfoy!"

"Protective of your Mudblood girlfriend, as always," the blond spat.  Harry hadn't yet dared to turn.

His friends' faces flushed.

Ron looked ready to explode, but Harry heard Malfoy move, and the blond strolled past him, pausing between him and the others.  He pulled his gloves tighter over his hands, indifferently, "Well, as riveting as I find your company is, I really  _must_ be going."

And the bastard had the audacity to _wink_ at him.

Harry fumed.  Malfoy waved mockingly at them, sneering derisively, then vanished down the road.

The three remained silent for a moment, each resonating respective waves of dislike.  Finally, Hermione relaxed her shoulders, sighing, "Let's just go."

<><><><><><> 

Harry picked at his dinner, rolling over roasted potato bits, having lost his appetite long ago.

"Harry, what's wrong?  You look pale."

"Hm?" he mumbled, looking up, "I'm fine," he lied weakly.

Hermione squinted at him, "Is it about Malfoy? What did he do?"

' _Cornered me, molested me, and probably would've done a lot worse if I hadn't bolted for it,'_ Harry thought, but opted for, "Nothing.  Just being a prat."

For a moment, he thought he fooled her, but it was still obvious she didn't think it was the  _whole_ truth.  Well, it was part true.

He was being a very _touchy-feely_ prat.

Whatever her thoughts, she stopped pestering him, and turned to 'Ronald' to nag him about table manners.  Harry's eyes roamed, falling on Malfoy,  _of course_.  The boy was hidden amongst the other Slytherins, and Harry wondered for a moment how so many enormous egos could fit at one table.

As if on cue ( _damn him!_ ), Harry found those steely, cold eyes directed straight at him.  Startled, his breath seized in his throat, and he ripped his gaze away.  The stray thread on his sleeve suddenly became very interesting.

“So where do you reckon that necklace came from?”

Ron’s voice snapped him back out of his thoughts.  Harry cringed.  Katie Bell had been attacked _(What else would you call it?)_ on their way back from Hogsmeade, and they’d spent the better part of their evening with Professor McGonagall until it was announced that Katie would be transferred to St. Mungo’s in the morning.  He could still hear her screams.

She’d been Cursed.

The whole school was unsettled.  Despite whatever was going on between them, Harry had readily supplied Malfoy’s name as a suspect, but McGonagall had insisted that he’d been in detention immediately following their (unmentioned) encounter.

Hermione looked troubled.  She bit her lip.  Ron rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.  Stomach twisting, Harry turned his gaze away.

Minutes dragged by, and he could still feel eyes assaulting the side of his head.  His eyebrow twitched in annoyance.

Slamming his palms flat against the polished but worn wood, Harry slammed a fist down and sprung upright.  An upturned goblet clattered piercingly, painting the tabletop dusty orange.  Neville groaned, “ _Not again._ ”

Ignoring cries of indignation from the table, he snatched up his weathered canvas bag, and stormed away.

Those chilling, unreadable eyes followed him until the Hall doors safely separated them.

<><><><><><> 

After glaring at the ceiling for hours, Harry thought it would have burned a hole through the stone already.

A chorus of snores surrounded him, his dormmates having fallen asleep long ago.

Nevertheless, he found himself irritatingly  _awake._ Whether it was the product of frustration, or worry, or the subconscious feeling that his sleep would not exactly mean  _rest,_ he couldn't decide.  Both the imaginary  _and_  annoyingly tangible Malfoy had caused the Gryffindor to question his mental state.  Conspiring to steal a vial of Dreamless Sleep from the Infirmary didn't seem so rash anymore.

His face grew hot as he considered the alternative.  His hands traveled up to cover his eyes as he released a pained sigh.

Not until those  _damned dreams_  had begun had Harry considered himself anything but straight as a broom handle.  Not only was he now questioning _that,_ but now he thought he might be completely mad.  Of all the sentient beings on  _Earth_ , it was Malfoy, King Prat of all prats, git to end all gits.  His subconscious was playing a wicked joke.

What would have happened had Ron and Hermione not been nearby? Just how far would Malfoy have gone?

There was no knowing.  It had pretty much been established that blond preferred the male persuasion.  Harry scoffed to himself _.  That_  much had been evident.  Who would've thought?

Harry's hands flopped down by his sides.  Even if Malfoy  _was_ queer, it still didn't explain his sudden new hobby of molestation.  It was like the Slytherin's desire to prove his dominance had taken a rather nasty turn.  They hated each other.

Harry intended to leave it at that.

What if Malfoy was just trying to screw with him?  _Not like that!_  He winced, an obscene picture popping into his mind.

It was highly possible the blond was simply inventing new ways to humiliate him.  It was a rather substantial risk on the Slytherin's part, though.  How did the boy know Harry wouldn't go telling everyone?  Then again, who exactly  _would_ admit they had been felt up by their rival?  And enjoyed it, no less.

His brain hurt.

He wasn't exactly proud that he'd been unable to fend Malfoy off.  He was even less proud he'd submitted as much as he had.  It's not like he'd  _liked_ it!

… _had_  he?

No, no, no, absolutely  _NOT!_   Never in any conceivable amount of years would he ever  _consider_ anything of the sort with _Malfoy._   Maybe another bloke… but Malfoy was out of the question!

And that was that.

He promptly flopped over onto his stomach, burying his face into the welcoming down-pillow.

When he finally did succumb to sleep, it was filled with echoes of Katie’s screams.

 


	3. Nox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewritten and updated as of Oct. 2016.

_Smooth, pale hands danced patterns across the tanned skin.  Draco placed a gentle kiss on the boy’s lips.  Moments later, they broke apart, and he was greeted with electrifying green eyes, intense and yearning.  Soft pants escaped their bruised mouths._

_Nothing existed outside of this.  They had no need of anything else but the feel, sound,_ taste _of each other, writhing in their throes.  They plunged into another flurry of kisses and touches, murmuring, driving the themselves further.  His hand trailed down his lover’s side, lips fastened to the brunet’s collarbone.  The eyes followed him, half-lidded in rapture, as he slipped lower and lower, lips finally finding what he so desperately sought-_

Draco shot upright, the dorm swimming around him.  The steady _thump-thump_ of his heart filled his ears as his eyes adjusted to the pitch-blackness enveloping him.  His eyes shot around the room, scrutinizing his housemates for signs that he’d been heard.  None stirred.

Massaging his temples, he propped himself on his free arm.  It was so damn _confusing._   One day, his hand is brushing up Parkinson’s skirt, the next, he’s got a boner for Potter. 

Although, he’d admit Potter had better looks.

He shook his head vigorously, displacing the thoughts, and his already disheveled hair, and flopped back onto his pillows.  Speaking of hard-ons, Draco was painfully aware of the one pulsing demandingly between his legs.  He groaned.  That was definitely not going away.

He drummed his fingers against his abdomen.

_Might as well subdue the hormones so I can at least sleep._

Resigned, he checked that his Muffliato was still intact (which he learned quite recently would be wise), and tightened his bed curtains.  Falling back down into his bed, Draco heaved a sigh, grazing his hand casually over his chest and stomach.  His cock twitched in response.

He repeated the motion a few times before finally moving for the elastic of his pants, thin fingers slipping past the barrier almost eagerly.  Draco trailed his hand lazily over the sensitive skin covering his hipbones.

Growing impatient, and mostly wanting to just get it over with, he grabbed his cock firmly, pumping it fully with a hiss.  He cursed, clenching his eyes shut.  A single finger stroked the pulsing vein under the head. 

Eyes of bottle green manifested behind his closed lids, piercing and pleading.  A lean, beautiful body sprawled beneath him, pleading, begging to be taken over the edge.  His fist tightened around himself, but, _no_ , it was that deliciously snug hole taking him to the hilt, and _Merlin,_ Draco was spilling himself within seconds.

It was quite some time before he swam back to reality.  He had just nearly enough energy to expend on a Scourgify before he lost consciousness altogether.

 <><><><><><>

Harry cursed.

Ron and Hermione jolted, warily peering at Harry’s tossed-aside fork.  The bushy-haired girl lowered her copy of the _Prophet_ slightly, eyebrows shooting up to her hairline, “What?”

“ _Malfoy!_ ” Harry hissed, glaring across the Great Hall, “He keeps staring at me!”

Ron went back to his eggs, “Curse his eyes out, mate.”  Hermione looked at him scoldingly.  The ginger threw his hand up, “ _What?_  He deserves it! _”_

She rolled her eyes, hair fluffing out as she shook her head.  Her gaze returned to the newspaper, but she spoke over the top of it, “He _has_ been paying rather close attention to you lately.”

 _‘I hadn’t noticed!’_ Harry thought scornfully.

“Did you see Katie this morning?” Hermione’s voice floated back in.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, “McGonagall made me meet her again before they took her.”

Ron blanched, “Something ain’t right.”

Hermione nodded, “How’d a Dark artifact that powerful get anywhere near the school, is what I’d like to know.”

Harry rubbed his face.  There was never a break.

Their conversation trailed off in favor of food, Ron muttering about ferrets, and Hermione remaining pensive.  Harry brutally assaulted his breakfast bits until they left for first classes.

He was halfway out the oaken doors when he spotted Malfoy further on.  Glowering, Harry sped up, bumping students aside until he could reach out, grab the Slytherin’s cloak and drag him behind a suit of armour.

 _“What_ is _it?!”_

Malfoy stumbled to regain his balance, eyes narrowed at his attacker.  He brushed his robes haughtily, “What in the blazes is wrong with you, Potter?”

“What the fuck do you _think_ , Malfoy?”

 “Haven’t the foggiest,” the blonde grumbled sardonically, peering out at the students passing.  The rest of Harry’s willingness to compromise disintegrated, “You keep assaulting me!  And staring!  Do you know how bloody _infuriating_ this whole thing is?” he motioned between them, “I’d have honestly thought you’d have gotten your fill by now.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed dangerously.  He moved closer, “To be honest, Potter, I’m quite _surprised_.”

“Er-” Harry blinked.

“All this complaining…” the faintest brush across Harry’s trousers, and he was flattening himself against the armoured suit behind him, “And you haven’t told _a soul._ ”

Harry realized quickly this may have been a grave mistake.

The blonde’s hand bravely slipped inside his robes, wandering a curious path, “If it bothers you so, why continue to let me do _this._ ”  A firm press against Harry’s groin emphasised the point.  He whimpered.

A very big mistake.

But no sooner had he resigned himself to his embarrassing fate than the hand disappeared, and Harry became acutely aware of the sparse few students still passing.  He felt his face burn.

“Calm down, Potter,” the blond said dismissively, like he hadn’t just been fondling Harry’s nethers.  He ruffled at that.  Malfoy had a lot of fucking nerve. 

The Slytherin readjusted his canvas bookbag, then said after a moment, “Meet me by the lake after curfew.”

The boy was vanished in a flourish of robes before Harry could even object.

 <><><><><><>

The good thing about sneaking around the castle at night in the middle of winter was that most prefects started skiving their rounds when the temperatures dropped.  No amount of satisfaction from doling out detentions was worth hypothermia.

This fact, for which he was eternally grateful, left Harry to wander the halls less carefully.  For instance, he was pacing his way back and forth in front of the massive entrance doors, muttering insanely to himself in almost a normal volume.

He had decided to meet Malfoy.  He had also decided he was starkers for doing so in the dead of night, alone, in the bitter cold and especially after what happened the last few times.  And what had happened to Katie Bell.

Maybe he wanted to apologize!  _‘That’s it!’_ Harry thought madly.  Maybe by some miracle, Malfoy had grown a conscience, and felt sorry for every wrong he’d ever committed.

Somehow he found that very doubtful. 

But one can dream.  Whatever the case, the Gryffindor had made sure he would have access to his wand this time.  Said object was fastened securely to his forearm with a Sticking spell.

He chalked it up to curiosity, and his Malfoy-Is-Up-To-Something sense.  He always was, and Harry was convinced he was involved in what had happened in Hogsmeade.

At nearly eleven o’clock, Harry grumbled loudly and hauled one of the doors open.  He was greeted with a rush of icy air that blew his hair back and made his eyes water.  Steeling himself with a string of curses, he stomped out onto the grounds.

He could hardly see.  The only light outside came from the waning moon, and a few candles left in some of the castle’s windows.  A Lumos was tempting, but it would give him away, even with the Cloak on.  There was still the possibility this was some sick practical joke all along, and the entire Slytherin dorm could be waiting to hex him into oblivion.

He would just have to suffer the dark.

Harry tip-toed past the dreaded Willow, down the hill, and around the edge of the forest.  Teeth chattering, he cast a feeble Warming Charm, pleased when he didn’t botch it with his stuttering.  With renewed vigor, he quietly made his way towards the placid water, but halted when a platinum glimmer shone further on.

His breath caught.

Moonlight was definitely flattering for Malfoy.  It flowed down on him, illuminating his hair and face in an ethereal softness.  Steel eyes fixed out on the Lake, the boy barely moved as a breeze shifted his robes, and rippled away across the glassy surface.  To Harry, it seemed like something taken right out of a movie.  Leave it to the git to stand in near-freezing weather, and look like fucking Adonis.

“I know you’re there.”

Harry blinked.  What?  He still had the Cloak wrapped around himself like a burrito.

“Oh, _honestly_ ,” Malfoy snapped, exasperated, “You walk like a herd of centaur on the chase.  You’re not sneaking up on _anyone_.”

“I do not!” Harry shouted back, tearing the cloak off.  Malfoy pinched his nose.

Harry glared, “Okay, fine.  Now why the hell did you drag me out here?”

Malfoy didn’t look at him.  It was deathly quiet, nothing but bare branches scraping against each other above.  Harry was beginning to get impatient, “Mal-”

“I wanted to tell you something.”

“Yeah, we covered that part already,” Harry spat, the phantom feeling of Malfoy’s palm against him sending a shiver up his spine, “Get to the bloody point.  It’s miserable out here.”

Frankly, Malfoy’s forebodingly calm demeanor was unnerving him.  After what seemed to be ages, that unyielding gaze turned to him, and Harry’s chest clenched, stomach writhing uncomfortably.

Malfoy’s brows knitted slightly.  The boy seemed at a loss for words, the signs of inner turmoil sweeping over his face.  Confused and slightly concerned, though he would never admit it, Harry peered at him.  The Gryffindor was uneasy, counting the seconds until he was sure Malfoy’s cronies would leap from the treeline shouting _‘HAH!  Got you, Potter!’_ and pummel him with hexes.  The blonde would stand over his cursed body, cackling, and they’d probably leaving him lying somewhere with _‘Potter is a Pouf’_ magicked in glittering letters above his unconscious body.

Suddenly, Malfoy swore.  Harry jumped, ripped from his tentative plans to leave the country after the Prophet got ahold of the story.

The other boy’s hands clenched at his sides, “You have absolutely no idea how difficult it is for me to say something like this because I can’t fucking stand you or your ridiculous hair or your stupid glasses,” Malfoy spat, “…but I don’t hate you as much as I’d honestly like to.”

Harry blinked.

Wait-

Malfoy hated him... but didn’t...?

Harry’s ears rang, limbs numb from more than just cold.

Malfoy… _fancied_ him.

The Slytherin’s face remained stony.  However, he was brilliantly flushed, still glaring angrily at the crushed leaves by his feet.  Harry tried to stutter a reply, but Malfoy interrupted him hastily, snatching his cloak around himself tightly, “This was stupid-”

He made to shove past Harry and escape to the castle, but the brunette grabbed him firmly by the sleeve, “Wait-!”

Malfoy looked back at him, startled.  He didn’t fight the grip, instead staring Harry in the eye with a fierce defensiveness.  Tension hung between them, and it made Harry’s skin prickle.

“You didn’t ask... how I feel,” Harry whispered, staring down at his fingers like he didn’t even recognize them.

He looked up, watching the cogwheels turn, and Malfoy’s face slipped from regretful to stunned.  Harry took advantage of the boy’s stupor to draw his hand up in a bold _(and probably stupid)_ move, bringing the other boy’s skin to his chilled lips.

Malfoy tensed.  The brunette waited for the yelling to start, but after a moment, the other boy only sighed, tugging his hand back.

The blonde turned his head, huffing, failingly trying to recompose his normal lofty demeanor.

“I suppose…” the brunette paused, shrugging, “It’s a compromise.”

Malfoy laughed tightly.  Harry’s stomach curled, and they stood in the quiet for a while.  After a moment, he finally spoke.

“It’s late.  We should go back.”

The Slytherin nodded, turning to the barely-lit castle.  Harry silently fell in step beside him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has been sitting on my USB, finished, for three years. Oops.
> 
> If you’re wondering what I meant about the divergence I mentioned in the previous A/Ns, here you go: In my original, written 10-some-odd years ago when I had no concept of timing, this is the chapter in which they actually confessed. Looking back, the plot was ridiculous, and unrealistically fast.
> 
> So, instead, we now have Harry deciding it’s simply something of ‘a compromise.’ He becomes less uncomfortable with Draco’s advances, and Draco is accepting of his interest in Harry. They can work with it.
> 
> That aside, stick with me, and we'll try to ride this one out til it's finished.


End file.
